


Fandom Stocking 2015/16

by parcequelle



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Collection: Fandom Stocking 2015, F/F, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly and Deanna prepare for a function; Xena and Gabrielle share a morning; Buffy and Cordelia have to work together; Jean-Luc and Beverly wait to be rescued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fashion Advice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/gifts), [SaltwaterWine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltwaterWine/gifts), [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts), [Juliet316](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliet316/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly and Deanna prepare for a function.

“How about this one?”

Deanna turns around and makes a face. “Oh no, Beverly, really?”

Beverly glances down at the outfit in her hands, a neon purple jumpsuit lined in silver and sporting a collar of what looks to be the fur of a Jora beast. She frowns. “These are the Betazoid national colours, aren't they?”

“They are,” Deanna says, “and while it's very thoughtful of you to take that into consideration, I--” she feels something flutter at the edges of her mind, the slightest shift in the steady melody of Beverly's thoughts, and she gasps. “Beverly Crusher! Are you _teasing_ me?”

Beverly presses a hand to her chest, all innocence. “Would I dare risk such behaviour toward a Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed?”

Deanna picks up a particularly ghastly multicoloured hat and sets it on Beverly's head with a smirk. “I have no doubt of it. But I can think of a way you can make it up to me.” She watches with glee as Beverly's eyebrows narrow, suspicion alerted.

“What?” Beverly asks.

Deanna fusses with the collar of a dress they have just placed in the 'maybe' pile, then looks up and says, “How would you like to be my date to the function?”

“Oh.” Beverly's expression flickers from wary to surprised to pleased, and then she nods. “Of course, Deanna. I'd like that.”

“Lovely.” Deanna grins. “Did I mention there's a dress to go with that hat?”


	2. A+

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xena and Gabrielle share a morning.

From the moment she opened her eyes to the blinding sun and the eerie silence, Gabrielle knew she was about to be tested. She squinted against the glare, patted the ground beside her bedroll for her staff, managed to wrap her fist around it and heft it just in time to--

“Ha!” She sat up and grinned, triumphant, as Xena's stick made contact with her own but she didn't lose her grip. “I knew it!”

Xena smiled. “How did you know?”

Her reaction had been mostly instinctive, but now Gabrielle thought about it. “I felt it,” she said. She glanced around, took in the sparkling water of the lake, the absence of birdsong. “I felt it in the stillness.”

“And how did you know it was me and not some bandit coming to rob and kill you?”

Gabrielle stood up and stretched her arms above her head; she appreciated the way the motion drew Xena's gaze to her abdomen, so she did it again. “Well,” she said, lowering her voice, “if you really want to know, I suppose I'll tell you." She inserted a dramatic pause for effect. "Do you?”

Lips twisted in a smirk, Xena took one step closer to her, then another, until they were standing nose-to-nose. “Oh, yes,” she murmured, “I really do want to know.”

Gabrielle rested a hand on Xena's waist and leaned up to whisper – seductively, she hoped – right into her ear. “I knew it was you because the snoring had stopped.” Laughing at the outraged expression on Xena's face, Gabrielle pecked a kiss to her lips and turned and raced off in the direction of the lake, Xena close at her heels.

Who said tests couldn't be fun?


	3. Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy and Cordelia have to work together.

“Wow, gee, isn't this _exactly_ what I wished for for Christmas. Couldn't think of a more perfect gift, Santa, _thanks_.” Cordelia flounces into a rickety, dust-covered chair and shrieks when the movement sends a rat scurrying along the skirting boards. “OH MY GOD!” 

Buffy, working her unbelievably cute new boots at the lock in the basement door, channels all her fury into the motion. “Cordelia, seriously! Do you not get that I'm trying to concentrate here?” The lock whines, cracks, shifts; Buffy aims a flying kick at the door's hinges and watches with satisfaction as it swings loose. Cordelia shrieks again, covering her head, as the heavy wood groans beneath the pressure of Buffy's foot and goes crashing to the ground. “You're okay,” Buffy tells her roughly, when Cordelia dares to look up. She takes pity on her, extends a hand. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

It's a true sign of Cordelia's desperation that she takes the hand without protest, covered in dirt and dust though it is. Buffy pulls her up and keeps her close as they edge through the newly-revealed doorway, dust motes swirling wildly before their eyes, and into the--

“Oh, hellcakes,” Buffy mutters. All that work to break down this medieval montrosity of a door, only to find themselves in an adjacent cellar?

Cordelia lets go of her hand and sighs long-sufferingly, which Buffy does take personally, thanks very much. “Ugh, great work, Buffy.”

“Hey!” Buffy exclaims, turning on her. “Way to be ungrateful, Cordy. I'm trying to get you out of here!”

“No,” Cordelia says, “you're trying to get _yourself_ out of here, and--”

“--and you're not doing anything to help, so quit whining and let me get to work.” Buffy stalks away from her, as much to prove a point as to get to the edge of the room so she can scout for possible exits. This room, while equally dark and icky, is at least bigger than the last one; it smells a little less musty, and there's assorted crap stacked against all the walls, but Buffy would bet there's a greater chance of finding a window or a trapdoor or a pipe or something to help them here than where they just were. Buffy traces her gaze along the ceiling, finds what she's looking for, and knows where to start.

She's just started clambering over stacks of broken furniture and whatever the hell _that_ used to be when Cordelia huffs out, “So what _was_ that thing anyway? Clearly not a vampire.”

Buffy wants to snap out that if she knew that they wouldn't be here, but she recognises a Cordelia-flavoured peace offering when she's offered one and decides to bite. “Demon, I'm guessing, and not the Mensa kind.”

“I dunno,” Cordelia mutters, “it doesn't seem entirely stupid to paralyse us with a creepy pencil-dart-claw-hybrid and then lock us in a never-ending basement. Kinda hard to see where he went wrong.”

Buffy ignores that, works her way through an old table, a leather briefcase, three huge tyres and what seems to be half a car, tossing them all to the ground. The sound makes Cordelia jump but she doesn't screech, at least; Buffy counts that as progress. 

“I don't mean to question your methods, Slayer-weirdo, but what are you--”

Buffy dodges to the side, surfing with more success on the piles of junk than she ever did on real waves, and smirks. “You were saying?” Behind them, up where the wall meets the ceiling, spreading out on a crack, is mould. Is water. Is _light_.

*

In the end, it only takes them half an hour to get out of there. Buffy finds a vaguely axe-shaped instrument and starts hacking away at the weak spot in the wall, revealing more and more sunlight as she goes; she's managed a hole large enough to poke her head through and determine that she's at ground level when the demon decides to come back – Cordelia's shrieks, it turns out, can have their uses – and Buffy has to abandon her mission to go kick some demon ass, spill some demon blood, yada yada same old same old. Because Buffy's so busy trying to figure out which of the thing's multiple arms control its sight and/or equilibrium and/or tactical deployment of the creepy pencil-dart-claw-hybrids, it's Cordelia who is finally responsible for getting them to freedom.

“I really do appreciate the attention,” Buffy tells the demon as he catches alight and explodes. “I just prefer my guys 'armless.” 

*

Out of the damp, the sunshine on their faces, the demon no more, Cordelia flings her arms around Buffy and squeezes hard and whispers, “ _Thank you_.” Just for a moment, Buffy hugs her back.

*

“It was _amazing_ ,” Cordelia is saying the next day at school, Harmony and that other girl and that other other girl gathered around her, wide-eyed and awed. “ _I_ was amazing, you should have seen me. I just hacked away at that seriously outdated décor all Texas Chainsaw Massacre-style until I got out...”

Xander makes an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes, nudges Buffy in the side. “Just listen to her,” he mutters. “Taking all the credit for what you did. Aren't you gonna say something?”

Buffy watches Cordelia as she basks in the glow of her captivated audience, can't help but smile. “Nah,” she says. “We have an understanding.”


	4. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Luc and Beverly wait to be rescued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Juliet316 for Fandom Stocking 2015.

The hard part is over: after several hours of huddling beneath the cover of dense bushes, wedged between outcroppings of rock, they've finally managed to make contact with the _Enterprise_. Beverly no longer knows how many attempts they'd made before the blessed sound of Will's static-stuttered voice pierced through the rush of the wind, but she does know she'd never been more relieved to hear it than she was right then.

“On route--” Will's voice crackles, and Beverly strains to make out the individual words, sits up straighter as though that will make a difference, “--disruption to the –- attempting to –- two hours –- sit tight.” It isn't much, but it's enough; she turns to Jean-Luc and meets eyes that are warm with relief, a smile slight but no less precious for it. He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder as he answers.

“Good work, Number One. We look forward to your arrival. Picard out.”

Reassured by the increased likelihood of their rescue, Beverly takes a moment to look around. “Do you think we ought to move to higher ground? Perhaps it will make our commbadge signals easier to detect.”

Jean-Luc frowns, bends back the large frond of the bush before them to peer out at the weather. “Perhaps,” he says. “But I don't like the look of those clouds. To the west there, see? Moving fast.” Beverly leans in to him, the better to make out the direction of his gesture, and then takes the opportunity to rest her weight against the warm strength of his arm.

“Yes, I see,” she murmurs. “Perhaps we'd better stay here, then.”

She can almost hear him smiling. “Indeed.”

It is somehow entirely comfortable, entirely natural, the way Jean-Luc eases himself into a position that allows her to lean more fully against him. She adjusts, moves with him when he widens his legs to make space for her between them, accepts the combined sensation of thrill and comfort she feels when he gently draws her in to lean against him. He gives her every opportunity, every moment to pull away – it is perhaps that fact that is responsible for her utter lack of desire to do so.

Rain starts to fall, soft and rhythmic on the earth around them, but their shelter is sufficient to keep them dry. Beverly feels her eyes start to droop, the adrenaline of the past several hours morphing into tiredness, the knowledge that the _Enterprise_ is coming affording her peace.

“Shan't be long, now,” Jean-Luc murmurs. Is he stroking her hair? If he is, he should keep going. He chuckles, soft, and she hears it, feels it where his heart meets her back; perhaps she'd said that aloud. No matter. “Rest now,” he tells her. A soft squeeze of her hand. “I'll wake you when it's time.”

The offer is just too tempting to resist.


End file.
